Prophecy
by muhnemma
Summary: A Dunmer warrior is swept into a bloody rebellion by the mysterious Champion of Cyrodiil


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Morrowind or Oblivion.

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**Prologue**

Pandora closed her eyes against the sudden gust of wind that blew dust into her face. After five weeks of ash storms she seemed to be permanently coated in a fine layer of the red grit, and she had a feeling that she would be picking it out of her boots for a good while after she returned to Cyrodiil. Ruefully, she realised that she needn't have bothered magically altering her appearance before she began her journey; she doubted whether even those who saw her every day would recognise her beneath her layer of dust. But at the time her memory of Morrowind, of its vast swathes of deserted lands and the breezes that could become storms in moments, had been dim, and she couldn't risk that anyone would recognise her.

Through the swirling clouds she glimpsed the silhouette of a lone hut, and quickened her pace. As she drew closer her surprise that the ramshackle structure could survive such a tempest mounted, but she knew that the Dunmer had long ago found ways of surviving in this brutal land. Reaching the door, she briefly toyed with and discarded the idea of knocking; no one would be able to hear her above the wind. She turned the handle and stumbled inside, closing the door firmly against the raging elements.

She had little time to enjoy the shelter of the small room, the warm that came from the fire flickering in the hearth, before the sharp point of a dagger was pressed against her throat. "Move and I'll cut you a new smile from ear to ear," a voice hissed from behind her. The pressure on the dagger increased, drawing a thin trickle of blood to emphasise her assailant's point. Inwardly Pandora cursed herself. She had hoped that it wouldn't come to this. There were daggers, infinitely sharper than the one currently stinging her flesh, concealed in her sleeves that she could whip out and slam into her attack in an instant. But that wasn't an option; she needed them alive.

"Surely you wouldn't harm an old friend," she said, no trace of a tremor in her voice.

"You are no friend of mine, outlander," her attacker spat.

"You aren't familiar with the House of Morcie?"

The effect was instantaneous. The hand that had been gripping Pandora's upper arm suddenly grew lax, and the dagger slipped away. She turned slowly, not wanting a sudden, reckless movement to earn her a blade in the chest, and found herself facing an ancient Dunmer woman. "It's been a long time, Gwin," she said, bowing politely from the waist.

"Mercy," Gwin breathed. "You survived, child?"

"Thanks to you," Pandora said. "Without your warning Shona wouldn't have had time to smuggle me out."

"That was almost twenty years ago. I haven't seen you since you were this high," she said, jabbing a hand out at waist level. "Where have you been?"

Pandora shrugged awkwardly. "It's a long story." _And you wouldn't approve of most of it, _she added to herself. "But I'm back now because I need your help." Before Gwin had time to ask a single question, Pandora turned and set her traveling pack on the hut's single table. From it she produced three intricately carved wooden boxes, which would have been a more than adequate offering had her request been smaller. The first box contained delicacies that the average commoner of Morrowind wouldn't be able to afford if they lived twice their expected lifespan: chocolates coated in fine gold leaf, the flesh of an almost impossible to find fish whipped into a fluffy spreading paste, fruits from the Summerset Isles preserved in phials of thick syrup. In the second box was a set of books of the history of Tamriel, bound in thick leather and spelled to prevent damage. The final box held ebony daggers, beautiful and almost unbreakable. As Pandora opened each box and displayed its contents, Gwin's frown deepened.

"What help could you possibly need that would require such an offering?" She asked as she lowered herself into a chair, wide eyes fixed on the exotic, impossible gifts.

"I need to hear the prophecy," Pandora said. "The history changing, world shattering one."

"And what makes you think you have the right to hear it?

"I'm in it."

The two women stared at each other for a long time, gazes unflinching. It was Gwin who eventually looked away, sighing and burying her face in shaking hands. "There will be a test," she murmured. "A trial to prove your worth."

Pandora dropped down heavily into the chair opposite her. "There always is."


End file.
